


Learning to live again

by Elemental_sorceress1



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Death, Depression, M/M, Mental Institutions, Overdosing, Suicide Attempt, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 14:15:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4832183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elemental_sorceress1/pseuds/Elemental_sorceress1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After losing some one he cares about, Sherlock has to learn how to live again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning to live again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eyeless_soul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeless_soul/gifts).



On a rainy night in August John Watson was fatally shot on his way home from the store. He had been a few feet from the stoop of 221B Baker Street. Inside the flat Sherlock's cell phone rang, John's name appearing on the screen. But when Sherlock had answered, the voice that replied hadn't belonged to John. Sherlock's heart squeezed painfully in his chest as he rushed out of the flat. John had bled out before they could even reach a hospital.

Two days after John's death, Sherlock solved his murder. The killer had been a fan of Sherlock's, convinced that the only thing that kept them apart was John. Convinced that if John was out of the way, Sherlock would look at him. Sherlock had walked away from the confrontation with bruises forming on his upper arms from where Lestrade had held him back from killing the man with his bare hands. And a split lip from when the man had struck out to protect himself when Sherlock had threw himself at him.

When Sherlock arrived home, Mycroft was sitting in his chair, waiting for him. Mycroft looked him over, his face softening slightly before he forced Sherlock to sit on in the chair he had vacated and knelt in front of him, dabbing at Sherlock's lip gently with a handkerchief he had pulled from the breast pocket of his jacket. Later, before he left, Mycroft rubbed his hand over Sherlock's dark curls, like he had when Sherlock was a child. When the older man was gone, Sherlock crawled into the bed he had shared with John and stayed there for two days.

XXX

A week after John's death Sherlock went to his funeral, he spent the service staring numbly at the white coffin. Half way through Harry had started yelling at the casket, yelling at John for leaving her, before she collapsed on her knees and started sobbing. Many had thought she was drunk, but Sherlock had deduced quickly that Harry was sober, for one of the few times in her life, she was simply grieving for her brother, one of the few remaining family members she had. Sherlock had stayed, even when everyone had left, he had stayed. Standing beside the newly dug grave, staring at the polished marble of the headstone. He hadn't cried yet, weren't people supposed to cry when they lost someone they cared about?

Three weeks after John's death, Sherlock took his first case. It hadn't been through his own choice, Lestrade had hesitated to call him in before, worried about giving him time to grieve. Sherlock didn't need the time, he was fine.

When he had made a connection, one that would eventually lead to the arrest of the perpetrator, Sherlock had looked up, his mouth turning down into a frown when he realized that he had been waiting for the 'Brilliant' or 'Amazing' that usually accompanied his deductions. But only John ever called him 'brilliant' and he was gone now. John, the only person that cared for Sherlock was dead. Sherlock silently walked away from the scene, his eyes watering, as his mind whirled with thoughts of John. 

Two hours later, Mycroft walked into the flat, to find it destroyed, and Sherlock curled up in the fetal position on the couch. Mycroft blinked, leaning his umbrella against the wall by the door and walking further into the room.

"I couldn't find them" Sherlock explained, not looking at Mycroft.

"Find what?" Mycroft asked.

"John's identity discs, I couldn't find them" Sherlock replied.

"I see, and because of this you decided to destroy your flat? Mrs. Hudson will not be happy if you damaged anything" Mycroft said. Sherlock rolled onto his other side to face the man.

"They are the last connection I have to him" Sherlock retorted, his voice softer then Mycroft had heard it in years. Mycroft's face once again softened, it seemed that his brother had finally begun to grieve for his loss.

"I brought you something to eat, Mrs. Hudson will be up later to check, so I expect you to eat at least some of it. I will be back to check in on you when I can, I have to leave the country tomorrow, do try to take care of yourself" Mycroft told him, placing a white paper bag back on the table he had righted.

XXX

A week later and Sherlock could no longer handle the boredom, or the ghost haunting his memory. A short trip into a dark corner of an alley held the only relief. 

Sherlock was floating on a cloud of haziness, completely numb to the world, and his head blessedly quiet. He was completely unaware of the people entering the flat, and he didn't care either way.

Mycroft and Lestrade both rushed towards the prone figure of Sherlock Holmes. Lestrade checking him over, as Mycroft attempted to get Sherlock to focus on him. Well aware of what was happening. Sherlock's skin was sweaty, but cool to the touch, his eyes dilated, and his breathing shallow, Mycroft had seen these symptoms before, a few years ago.

"I called an ambulance" Lestrade told him, kneeling on the other side of Sherlock once again.

"Thank you detective inspector" Mycroft replied, brushing Sherlock's damp curls from his forehead.

XXX

A month after John's death and Sherlock sat in a chair across from a woman in her early forties wearing a black dress suit. He was dressed in his night cloths, his blue silk dressing gown wrapped tightly around him like a shield, and his arms crossed over his chest.

"Your going to have to talk to me sometime Sherlock" she said, voice soft and soothing, like she was talking to a frightened animal.

"Recently divorced, married young, his decision not yours as you still wear your ring, only on the wrong finger. Three children, most likely you married as the result of pregnancy. You think your too old to start dating again. Your oldest child resents you, blaming you for the divorce, probably as a result of your dedication to your work" Sherlock said.

"Very good Sherlock. Your brother warned me not to take offense to anything you said, I knew when I agreed to take on your case that you would deduce my entire life the moment you met me, and I'm not going to allow you to use that as a way to get out of this. You need help Sherlock, and that's why I'm here" she told him. Sherlock picked at a lose thread on his dressing gown, not saying anything for the rest of the time before a man in white scrubs came to escort him back to his room. Mycroft had put him into a psychiatric hospital, worried that his depression over his loss would result in his death. He supposed the attempted suicide didn't help, and thus he was being forced to see a therapist.

Sherlock had been seeing the woman, Dr. Hawthorne for two weeks before he said something beyond deductions about her, or the staff at the hospital. He didn't really know why he had talked to her, he had been furious, and had just started yelling.

"Nurse Monroe took John's identity discs from my room, he said that they were contraband, that they were dangerous because I could use them to harm myself. They are not allowed to take them, Mycroft told them, it was an agreement" Sherlock said, pacing in angry circles.

"You don't think that he took them to protect you do you?" the woman asked.

"He doesn't like me. He's stealing medication, I deduced it, this is to try and keep me quiet" Sherlock growled. 

The next day Mycroft showed up, demanding to speak to the head doctor. The head doctor, Dr. Smith was a short round balding man in his fifties with thick rimmed glasses and wore a bad toupee. When the man came out of his office, he was visibly shaking.

"I've been told that one of your staff members went back on our agreement. The identity discs are to stay in my brothers room, I want them returned" Mycroft told the man, tapping the tip of his ever present umbrella against the linoleum floor.

"I apologize, I'm sure they were only doing their job" the man said.

"He dislikes me" Sherlock said from the side, an older nurse rolled her eyes at him. 

"The staff does not allow personal feelings to effect us Mr. Holmes, he was only doing his job" she said, her tone clearly indicating that she thought she was smarter then Sherlock.

"I want to speak to Nurse Monroe Dr. Smith, now" Mycroft ordered, the older man nodded rushing to the front desk.

"I must confess I do not understand why I had to come here Sherlock, you do not need me to fight your battles" Mycroft said, looking his younger brother over.

"They don't listen to me, I tried yesterday, they only sedated me and claimed I was agitated and a danger" Sherlock replied, Mycroft nodded.

"I will speak to Dr. Smith about that as well. The staff here seems to forget that the Holmes family owns this hospital. You look better Sherlock, you've gotten some color back" Mycroft told him.

"Mummy said that as well" Sherlock said.

"She's been worried" Mycroft agreed, Dr. Smith gestured to his office and Mycroft nodded.

"Monroe is stealing drugs, the main nurse won't listen to me" Sherlock told him, before turning and heading back to his room. 

A half hour later and a knock came at his door before Mycroft pushed it open. He held the silver tags out to Sherlock, who grabbed them and held them in his hand.

"Thank you" Sherlock said, Mycroft only nodded.

"Monroe has been fired" Mycroft told him, Sherlock nodded.

XXX

Three months after John's death, Sherlock was released from the hospital. Dr. Hawthorne asked to see him for a few more weeks, but he was better. Instead of being allowed to go back home though, his parents and Mycroft forced him to stay at Holmes manor for a while.

Two weeks after that, he was allowed to go home. Mrs. Hudson had hugged him tightly, crying and petting his cheek. She made him tea, and dinner, all the while insisting that she wasn't his house keeper, it was a bit of normalcy that Sherlock was thankful for.

XXX

A year ago, John Watson was shot and killed outside of 221B baker street, and Sherlock hadn't known how to live without him, hadn't known how to grieve. The consulting detective had nearly died himself.

John Watson had been a bright point in Sherlock Holme's life, he made him a better person, he took care of him, and now Sherlock had to learn how to live again, live without his best friend, the man he loved.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a gift for my friend.


End file.
